SYDNEY TO CAPE TOWN

15th March, 2001, day 17
Iceberg watch! We were storming along doing 11 knots in the pitch dark the other night and it crossed my mind as to what would happen exactly if we hit an iceberg. On deck it was very wet and freezing cold, visibility was poor and we had a rotation going to make sure that people kept warm by taking a turn down below as well keeping an eye on the radar for icebergs. Race leader, LG Flatron had spotted one just the previous day on our latitude so this was very much for real. Leaving the galley facing forward, the seriousness of it all came home even more as the watertight crash bulkhead door to the forepeak was seen to be closed for the first time ever. A sobering moment. Should we hit one of these bergs going as fast as we were, the crumple zone would certainly crumple. And if one caught us a glancing blow down the side of our steel  yacht, she would open up in the same way as a rip top opens a tin of sardines. Here inside the Antarctic Convergence Zone, where the air and sea temperatures are 2 and 3 degrees respectively, the thought of such impact doesn't bear thinking about for too long - so we make sure that we keep our eyes open!

Today, there it was, the iceberg that LG fondly called 'Sydney Opera House' was sighted astern. We can be sure that there are others about. At about the same time, we cross-tacked with BP Explorer, only a few boat lengths away. With the weak sun behind her sails, she looked glorious as we passed ahead of her, after so long at sea already. The crew on deck waved - a poignant, touching moment. We had last seen these special friends leaving Sydney and who knows, the next opportunity will probably be in three weeks' time when we reach Cape Town.

          Jan Giffen......closing on the Kerguelen Islands at 53 37S 97 48E

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5th April, 2001, day 26
When Sir Chay Blyth told us that there would be many challenges in this race, he didn't mention flying lessons. Flying across the cockpit, that is. The other day, it was exhilarating but scary too, when a wave lifted me several feet into the air and landed me quite a distance below into the unsuspecting lap of Matt, our legger. We laughed, mainly with relief - what else would you do?

Then on April Fools' Day, it was a WILD, WILD night, waves at 45 degrees at the bow of the yacht and the yacht at 40/45 degrees or so to them. The Skipper called to tack. I climbed out of the companionway and clipped on inside of the staysail winch, figuring in a flash that when we went about, that would be the high side - sensible foresight, I thought. So while I was hanging on to the staysail winch, the worst wave in a hundred kicked in, lifting my backside up and forward. Gravity then took over and I just flew, landing in a matter of seconds on my side on the bevelled edge of the downside of the cockpit. THUD!!! UUUUHHHHH! OH MY WORD - THE PAIN!!!!

It had been a distance of some metres and not an experience I would ever care to repeat. Help, nevertheless, was instantaneous. Like a well-oiled team , the crew couldn't have been better in coming to my aid.  Winded and gasping for air, I took stock of arms and legs - yes, all still working. It was my upper back that took  the brunt of the impact. The Doc says it's a few broken ribs and that time will heal. So it's rest and taking it easy for a while, not easy while the yacht's still slamming about at 40-60 knots. By the way, the tack didn't happen until 12 hours later after all!

          Jan Giffen...bruised and weary and still, still closing on the Kerguelen Islands

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